


Bleeding Out

by TetrodotoxinB



Series: Whumptober 2019 [23]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Day 23, Depression, Gunshot Wounds, Nightmare, PTSD, Prompt: Bleeding out, Steve really needs a therapist, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 12:28:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21136700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TetrodotoxinB/pseuds/TetrodotoxinB
Summary: Sometimes, clean hands aren't the comfort they seem to be.





	Bleeding Out

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [Secret_Library98](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Secret_Library98/pseuds/Secret_Library98).

_It’s like he’s just there to watch. Close enough that he can reach out and touch but still a million miles too far away to do anything that matters._

_“Get the package out of here. I got your six.”_

_Steve knows, he hasn’t seen it yet, but he already knows how much blood is seeping between Freddie’s fingers. _

_“What are you talking about? Get off your ass,” Steve argues back. “We’re moving! Let’s go!” Steve pops off a few more rounds but Freddie doesn’t get up. He never gets up. “Let’s GO!!” he screams._

_“Do the job!” Freddie shouts back. _

_Steve shakes his head, wants to stop this, wants to make this end some other way, _any_ other way. “My job is not leaving anybody behind!”_

_Freddie shakes his head. “Look at me, hoss. I’m not going anywhere.”_

_Steve’s seen it a thousand times — seen the wound, the blood, the dark seeping stain that Steve can’t stop. But no matter how many times he’s watched Freddie die, he still looks down. It’s part of it, it’s how this plays out. No exceptions._

_“Don’t let this be for nothing,” Freddie says, no longer shouting._

_Steve closes his eyes. Maybe, maybe if he does it right, maybe if he can find the right words, figure out how to stop the bleeding, how to get them both out of there alive — maybe this time Freddie can go, too._

_“Steven, I need you to do something for me,” Freddie says and Steve’s heart twists._

_“No. No, no, no, no.” Steve should be shooting but he can’t see through the tears so it doesn’t matter if he closes his eyes._

_When Freddie asks Steve to tell Lacey that he loves her — Steve knows her name now even though Freddie never did — Steve knows he’s failed, knows there’s no turning back from this. He feels helpless, like a puppet being pulled through the motions. Steve says his lines, even against his will, leaves like he’s the one being dragged and not Anton Hesse. When he turns the truck over and pulls away, Freddie already dead in his rearview mirror, Steve feels like he’s the one who shot Freddie, like he let Freddie take the shots meant for him and left him to die. _

He starts awake but it’s not a surprise. It always ends like this. Freddie dies and Steve wakes up with the image of Freddie’s body overlaid on the entire world. Steve sits up and scrubs his hands over his face, wiping away the tears as he goes. 

Getting up, he goes to the bathroom without turning on the lights. Even though it’s not particularly hygienic, Steve just can’t bring himself to wash his hands. There doesn’t seem to be a point. They’re clean. They’ve always been _clean_ when it comes to Freddie. Steve never got Freddie’s blood on his hands, never even tried to staunch the flow. Washing his hands seems almost pointless because his hands are already an indictment of his failures.

Quickly, he changes into his running clothes and slips on his sneakers. Outside it’s humid, warm, just like a clear September day fifteen miles north of the DMZ. The dampness clings to his skin in a way that he wishes he could wash off, if only to get rid of the reminder. But he knows he can’t outrun Freddie, no matter how far he goes, no matter how long it’s been.

In the dark of the morning, Steve’s feet beat a steady rhythm against the asphalt. He’s got three hours before he needs to be up for work. If he’s tired enough by then, maybe he’ll be able to focus on something else, maybe he’ll be able to pretend that his survival means something to someone. He can’t let this be for nothing.


End file.
